


Unreal

by Semi_problematic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Hallucinations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:17:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_problematic/pseuds/Semi_problematic
Summary: Dean always had a way to make things better. Until he didn't.





	Unreal

When Sam woke up the sun was already tucking itself down beneath the horizon. He had slept all day. Sams muscles stretched as he rose his arms above his head and let out a sigh. Beneath his feet was the rough motel carpet. All of the curtains in the room were closed and the smell of soup filled the air. Dean must be cooking something for him. 

For a few moments Sam let himself dwell on the familiar feelings. Dean was always the one that took care of Sam. He cooked him things when he was sick and took his temperature when he felt too hot. Somehow, each time Sam felt miserable Dean made him feel better. Dean never beleived it when he said it, but after all these years and all these sick days, it was still true. No matter how Sam felt, having Dean around made him feel better. 

"You let me sleep." Sam mumbled, running his fingers through his hair. "I could've kept going."

"You fell asleep sitting upright." Dean was in sweats and a thin white shirt. His arms were covered in scars and Sam couod see the bandages through the thin fabric. Dean was hurt because of him. Lucifer showed up in the middle of a fight and Sam struggled to maintain focus. A werewolf had got him. Sam cried the entire time he patched Dean up. "You hadn't slept for days."

"I had to take care of you and find another hunt." Sam rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head from side to side. His bones popped causing him to wince. Sams body was on high alert now that Lucifer never seemed to leave him alone. Truth was, Dean was okay. Patched together in one piece. But Sam couldn't sleep. Lucifer's voice filled his brain and occupied his thougts. 

"Sam." Dean turned around and looked at him. "I'm taking care of you, okay?" He walked towards Sam, standing up on his toes. With a gentle touch he brushed the hair from Sams face and kissed his forehead. "Sit down. We need to talk."

They had a lot of talking to do and for once Sam didn't want to be apart of it. He just wanted to be alone with Dean. Drown in the one real, good thing he had. Sam ducked down and kissed him softly. "How about we just relax?" Sam smiled. "You and I... we can go lay down..." He slipped his hands underneath his shirt. "Kiss-"

"You haven't eaten in days." Dean pulled away, taking a deep breath. He hadn't kissed Sam back. "Go sit down. The soup should be done." He walked over to the counter and shut off the stove, grabbing three paper bowls and stacking them on top of each other.

The soup was chicken noodle, the kind Sam lived off when he was at Stanford. It was the same brand, but somehow Dean made it better. Dean always made things better. Sam slowly ate the soup, watching Dean as he shuffled around and cleaned everything back up. Things felt different. Dean didn't rush to kiss him like he had for years. Music wasn't playing and Dean wasn't eating with him. Sam set his spoon down and traced the gash on his hand, his nail catching on the stitches.

"Why don't you come eat with me?" Sam asked, kicking a chair out with his foot. "You've been up all day... why don't you tell me about what happened?"

"Just eat." His voice was cold and empty. Had Sam done something wrong? Did they have a fight he didn't remember? A lot of his memories were blurred or made up now that Lucifer was tucked in beneath his skin. A few times Sam wondered if he clawed deep enough he could get Lucifer out. Dean put the rest of the soup in a bowl and set it to the side, walking back over to the table.

"Hey." Sam smiled. "I-"

"We need to break up." Dean said it fast. Rehearsed. How long had he wanted it? "You aren't okay. You're... Sam, you're hardly able to function. Skipping meals. Never sleeping."

Sam pressed harder against the cut, wincing. "I... Dean..." He smiled, sadly. "I'm okay."

"You aren't and thats the problem." Dean wasn't looking at him. "You are... you just aren't here. You're stuck living in this... this in between world of reality and function. We... I can't handle it."

"I can be better." Sam stood up, weakly. "I can work harder. Find a way to get him out. Anything." Dean was the one thing that made it not worthless. Dean was the thing that made him want to wake up. "This can't..." He fell back against the chair, shaking his head. "We've been together for years. Since when did something change?"

"The world got a lot meaner." Dean muttered, rubbing his face with his hand. "I still love you a lot, but right now... right now, I'm not helping. Me being around is making it all worse."

"No." Sams hand was throbbing. "Its not. You're making it better. Easier. Dean, please-"

"He uses me against you. Makes me die in front of you. Makes me say things." In a swift movement Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist. His grip made Sam wince. "He's fucked you up so bad that you can't even tell whats real. You can't... you can't tell me and him apart."

"No, Dean." Sam felt tears filling his eyes. His heart was pounding and his wrist ached. "He... he just knows what I love, Dean. I know whats really you. I... I just... this doesn't feel real."

"Nothing feels real for you anymore." Dean dropped Sams wrist and backed away. "I got a different room for myself. Call me if you need anything." Sam just then realized how empty the room was. How Dean didn't watch over him but instead ran from him. He looked Sam over one last time before walking towards the door. "You... you can't love me if you don't know what is me." 

Sam was silent, tears slipping down his cheeks. He gripped his hand, his thumb digging into the cut as hard as he could. The door slammed shut behind him and a sob ripped out of his body. He stayed in the seat, digging at the gash in his hand until the stitches came apart and blood pooled in his palm and dripped onto his lap. This wasn't real. Dean loved him. Dean wouldn't leave him.

Minutes passed. So did hours. Eventually Sam had to wrap his hand in a towel. He cleaned up the dishes and went back to bed. He curled up and pressed his thumb into the cut through the towel. 

It was real.

Dean wasn't coming back.


End file.
